


One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

by applescruff909



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applescruff909/pseuds/applescruff909
Summary: After some stability has returned to the realm, Daenerys sends Tyrion to Winterfell to build a bridge with the King in the North. But Tyrion also must build a bridge with Lady Sansa, his estranged wife...





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long journey for Tyrion these last few weeks as he and his party made their way to Winterfell on special assignment from Queen Daenerys. He'd traveled so much in the last few years that he was looking forward to a time when he could stay put indefinitely, reading books and drinking wine as he'd always intended. But at least the journey up the kingsroad had not been treacherous. Daenerys had sent along some of her Dothraki riders to become more acclimated to the harsher weather and get to know the land, and though they looked ready to burst into a rage at any moment, they did not make complaint. Tyrion did not find them stimulating company, but he respected their strength and intrepidity, and after a harmless quip about one Dothraki's braid that gave him fierce glares from the rest of the Dothraki, he stayed out of their way.

The party rode well, but Tyrion couldn't help but partly dread the moment he would see Sansa again. "Sansa," he breathed softly, letting her name glide off his tongue languorously. Sansa. His wife. His estranged wife? He wasn't sure he could say that. They'd been forced to separate and would likely be strange to one another again. But one thing he did know is after all this time he still had a yen for the beautiful and sad redheaded Stark.

Tyrion had a long time to think about his lady wife in their time apart. From the time he’d greeted her at his nephew’s name day, and offered his condolences on her father’s death at the hand of his bloody nephew sitting next to her, he’d known her to be a woman of strength, and though he’d been in love with Shae, Sansa was a woman who occasionally crept into this thoughts during those years. Shae had accused him early on of being in love with Sansa, of wanting to bed her, and he realized later that there was some truth to the accusations. Sansa had always been beautiful, and he’d always loved beautiful things. As her family was massacred due to his own cursed family’s machinations, he saw the beautiful girl continue to be knocked down, literally and figuratively, and watched in amazement as she fought to stand again, her head high. Her fortitude amazed him.

Their marriage had been a power play orchestrated by his father, and he knew it was a sham. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt this girl who had no control over her life. He knew she’d been trained well to be the lady and bear her trials with grace, but he couldn’t ask that of her. He’d paid many women to act out their love for him, the last a woman who probably did love him but could not accept his need to honor vows and family and turned that love into a fierce hate that led to his betrayal. He still hung his head low thinking of how events transpired between him and Shae. That was a dark time for him.

After his escape, his return to Westeros with Daenerys and her conquering army, the taking of the Red Keep, and regaining the former glory of the realm, he learned about Lord Baelish's deceit and how he'd claimed the marriage between Tyrion and Sansa was annulled, and married her to that Bolton bastard. It pained him to levels he didn't know he had - knowing his wife had been made into a pawn yet again, how he had been disgraced in such a way, how Ramsay had cruelly treated her... his heart ached.

 

The lords and ladies of Winterfell and a smattering of servants met them inside the gate, just as they had many years ago on that fateful trip with King Robert. Tyrion had traced so much to that one trip, and he wondered how his life and that of the Realm would be different if Robert had not ridden up. If he’d not forced Ned Stark to be Hand. Cersei probably would still have conspired for Robert to die on that hunting trip, but at least the Starks would be alive. Ah, but Joffrey still would have become king, and no doubt a revolt of some kind of would have broken out nevertheless. But it did not do to dwell on the past for long.

His stomach was aflutter like when he was a much younger man meeting beautiful women. He hadn’t felt this nervous at the prospect of meeting a woman since… well, he hadn’t been afraid of women in a long while. Not even when he had that first audience with Queen Daenerys and knew there was a pretty good chance he would lose his head or worse by the end of it. He’d lost much of his will to live by that point anyway. But now… now he wanted to live.

In the passing years he had fantasized about seeing Sansa again. How he had missed her. How he had desired for her. In his wildest dreams he imagined her own pent-up passion for him that would explode and cover them both on a reunion. But the other part of him, in his darker moments, accepted that she never loved him, never wanted him, and would be just as cold to him as ever. He was apprehensive about making the trip, and tried a handful of times to find excuses to stay, but Queen Daenerys had insisted. The Queen wore a playful smirk whenever Lady Sansa was mentioned. It gave Tyrion a modicum of hope, thinking that his Queen wanted to see Tyrion reunited with his lady wife again. But he still wasn’t sure it would be a warm welcome. The septon he'd consulted with said that though their marriage was never consummated, it was still valid. They'd been married by the High Septon in the Great Sept of Baelor, that was an untouchable bond. Sansa's marriage to the Bolton bastard was void. Furthermore it had not been performed in the eyes of the Seven. Effectively he'd been cuckolded. The thought of sweet Sansa being taken so violently by that brute of a man... Tyrion balled his fists on the reins thinking of it. But Ramsay was dead, his death orchestrated by Sansa herself if the stories were to be believed. He knew that force of strength was in her - he'd seen it as it slowly unleashed - and if the stories were indeed true, he was very proud of her.

The party passed through the gate to be met by the Northmen, and his eyes quickly jumped to the Lady of Winterfell - her red hair flowing past the shoulders of her dark cloak, her head high. She looked every bit the high-born woman she was. She stood next to her brother Jon, the King in the North. Jon looked weary but proud. The young man had fought so many battles, and had escaped death more than once. The two Starks were where they belonged. Tyrion’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as he gazed on his one-time wife, and he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. He had a slight fear of falling off his horse, and gripped the reins more tightly. Tyrion wanted Sansa to run to him and pull him close to her chest and cry over how much she missed him. He looked over at Sansa, his eyes only for her and no one else, and she locked her gaze with his. Her face bore the usual armor she wore as a lady of the court, stoic and serene, and he was suddenly so taken with her beauty and the fierceness she bore with grace he felt the air in his chest nearly completely leave him.

“Lord Tyrion,” King Jon greeted, breaking the reverie. “It is odd and yet good to see you here.” A smiled tugged at his face. Tyrion remembered the talk they'd had all those years ago, and saw that youthfulness peek through Jon Snow's face. 

“Your Grace, I could say to the same of you,” Tyrion said with a genuine smile. “Little did either of us know those years ago we would meet again under these... different... circumstances.”

Tyrion was assisted off his horse by one of the guardsmen, and a stable boy took the horse away. He bowed to King Jon, and approached Lady Sansa with a practiced confidence he hoped hid the fact that he could cry at the sight of her. “My lady,” he kissed her extended hand. “My dear Lady Sansa.” He looked up at her, and she had the hint of a smile on her face that gave him more hope than he could believe. Touching her again gave him a shock, and shivers crept up and down his body that he hoped he’d been able to conceal. 

“My lord Tyrion,” Sansa said. She looked a little flushed. Or was he imagining it? “I am very glad to see you well.”

Now it was Tyrion’s turn to look a little flushed. “I am pleased to hear it. To see you here at Winterfell again brings joy to my heart.”

They stood looking warmly at each other for another moment before King Jon coughed to break the spell. “Lord Tyrion, allow us to show you and your men to your quarters. No doubt your journey has been long and you seek some respite.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, finally letting go of Sansa’s hand and trying to appear as calm and collected as he should have been. “We do have a number of matters to discuss, as I am acting envoy for Queen Daenerys.”

“I’m sure that can wait until tomorrow.” Jon swept his arm out towards the hall. “We have a great feast for you this evening, and I invite you to join us as soon as you have settled. If I remember your proclivities well enough, I hope we have enough wine to satiate you.”

Tyrion let out a bark of a laugh. “One can only hope! In the intervening years I think my taste for good wine has only increased. If I have any faults, that would be it.”

Sansa’s smile widened a little bit, and Tyrion felt pride well in his chest to know he'd been the cause.

A young servant approached Tyrion and bowed. “M’lord, if you’ll follow me, please.”

Tyrion was lead to his lodgings and his luggage quickly followed. He glanced back at Sansa and Jon, standing in the courtyard, and his heart ached.

***

Sansa's knees were weak, and she grabbed Jon's arm to ensure she wouldn't fall as Tyrion walked into the castle. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jon asked with a smirk. "Now I can confidently say that the man has probably been more anxious about seeing you again than you about him."

"Is that what that was? Anxiousness?" Sansa was still gazing at the castle entrance. After a moment she shook her head. "I thought I was going to faint I was so nervous."

"You didn't look it," Jon reassured her. "You looked every bit a lady."

"I never thought I would see him again alive."

There was a long pause before Jon spoke. "Are you disappointed, Sansa? Seeing him alive?"

Sansa took in a deep breath before she exhaled her answer. "No. Not disappointed." She paused again. "I suppose I'm not sure what we have. Where to go with it. What it means."

Jon gave her a half hug. "One step at a time. I think that's all we can do at this point."

***

The siblings made their way to the hall for the feast welcoming the Queen's Hand. There were still plenty of Northmen who did not feel at all comfortable in the presence of a Lannister, even a redeemed Lannister, but there were enough lords and ladies to give the evening a festive feel. There hadn't been many of those in Winterfell in too many years. The Starks took their places on the dais, with a chair open beside Sansa. Tyrion was escorted in before long, in fresh raiment from his dirty and damp road clothes, and he paused as he saw the place left for him was beside his wife. He cautiously walked up the steps and greeted Jon and Sansa again. 

"Please be seated, my lord," Jon offered, and Tyrion bowed his head in thanks and pulled himself into the chair next to Sansa. The hall was buzzing with the many conversations of the people in attendance, and a man with a flute was creating some kind of noise in a corner, but it was almost as if Tyrion and Sansa had no one around them.

"My lady, I mean it very honestly when I saw that it is good to see you back in the North."

She looked shy, and cast her eyes down. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile softly at his one-time wife.

"Thank you, my lord." He saw she was wringing her hands in her lap, betraying the cool veneer she held on her face. "I must admit, I'm pleased to see you as well."

Pride swelled in Tyrion's chest, and he reached for his wine goblet. "A little worse for wear, but still in mostly one piece." He took a long gulp to disguise the joy he was feeling at the moment. Sansa was pleased to see him?

"Was the journey to Winterfell long?" Sansa asked. "I mean, coming through the snow."

"Knowing I would be able to see you again made it both a blink of an eye and seven years of winter at the same time." Tyrion glanced over and saw Jon engaged in a conversation with another knight. He leaned in closer to Sansa. "I wasn't sure of what kind of greeting I would be met with when I arrived, but I know that I have been..." He was at a slight loss for words. Sansa tensed. "Sansa, you have been in my thoughts since the day we were parted. I want you to know that. I know that our marriage was not under the best of circumstances, but I--"

Sansa cut him off sharply. "My lord, I don't wish to discuss the matter here and now."

Tyrion straighted his back as best he could, slightly ruffled by this rebuke. "Of course. My apologies." He sat in confusion as the first course was served. Had he been mistaken? Was Sansa merely acting the part of a dutiful lady? Or was this too public of a place to discuss such private matters? He glanced around the hall and saw a few faces eying him suspiciously. Sansa Stark was beloved here, and if he made any move to distress her there would be repercussions. He was suddenly hit with the memory of their wedding feast -- how unhappy she had been next to him, how drunk he got to dull his own feelings, how everyone in the room mocked him with their eyes. He didn't care to feel that way again. He quickly ate his fill, drank a few more glasses of wine, and made his excuses that the journey had been long, and all he wanted was a good night's rest. He couldn't really make an inconspicuous exit, but he fled the room as fast as he could, and made his way to his rooms where he could shut the door and not have to face anymore stares.

A fire had been started, and an assortment of wine bottles were arranged for him on a table. Good. No need to bring in a servant. He poured himself a glass, drank it in a gulp, and collapsed on the bed. He felt too many emotions go through his head and his heart, and all he wanted was sleep to take him. He pulled at the bedclothes in frustration, and a sob escaped his throat. No, no he wouldn't cry. After everything, he would not cry. No...

There was a timid knock on the door.

Tyrion raised his head. "Who is it?" There was no answer. He let his head fall back onto the bed. Then the door creaked open. "Please go away whoever--"

Lady Sansa entered, and all the anticipation Tyrion had been feeling for the past few weeks came to a head. He sat up immediately, riveted at the sight of her. He desperately wanted another glass of wine. Here she was, in his room. She had been a girl when they were wed, and now stood before him as a woman. There was a sharpness to her cheekbones, a fierceness to the way she held her head above her strong shoulders. Her dress barely contained her bosom, and Tyrion couldn’t help but let his eyes linger. He suddenly felt such an intense desire for her he forgot to breathe momentarily. If he continued to have trouble breathing in her presence he wasn't going to last long.

“Lady Sansa, you look--” he gulped. No, he wouldn't make that mistake again. "Lady Sansa, how may I serve you?"

Sansa clasped her hands in front of her, and looked at the floor remorsefully. "My lord, I'm afraid I have offended you."

"Not at all, my lady."

"Yes, I have. I'm --" she looked away, at a loss for words. "I've entertained so many thoughts at what I would say or do if we were to meet again, and discussing the state of our marriage was always a necessary but terrifying part of that conversation."

"And the same for me." He hopped off the bed and made his way to the wine again. “My lady, please sit. If we are to have the conversation both of us have been dreading, we might as well be comfortable."

Sansa seemed to glide across the floor, and slipped delicately into the chair. Tyrion’s body would never allow him such grace, and he hopped into a chair opposite, and was then able to pour himself a glass of wine, and one for Sansa, and quickly gulp it down to help settle his nerves. Sansa hesitated a moment, then took the wine and drank half of it down before she recovered herself.

“Tyrion,” Sansa said in a cracked whisper that sounded like longing and helplessness and urgency all wrapped up together. It made Tyrion’s heart skip a beat. She cleared her throat. “Tyrion," she repeated in a more stately tone, "I’ve thought a thousand times what I would say to you if I were to ever see you again, and a thousand different words came out. And now…” She paused to take another sip of wine. “And now I am at a loss.”

“We have that in common, then,” Tyrion conceded. “I’m not sure I know where to begin, either.”

"Finding you at a loss for words is a rare sight indeed," Sansa said with a slight smirk. He felt relieved at the sight. 

Tyrion couldn't suppress a grin himself. "You're no doubt right." He sipped at his wine. "My lady, I do want to say that I have remained faithful to you since our... eventful... parting. In fact, it was thoughts of you that helped to keep me going during many a dark day."

Sansa demurely looked down at her clasped hands in her lap. "I wish I had given you better memories to hold on to, my lord."

"Bah," Tyrion said. "My lady, put no blame on yourself for that." But the thought brought color back to his cheeks. 

There was a pregnant pause. There was more Tyrion had on the tip of his tongue, but he felt the moment was not right. Sansa couldn't help but think of how desperately sorrowful she was at that time of her early marriage. How repulsed at times she was of her husband. And after Ramsey Bolton... Sansa shuddered.

"My lady?" Tyrion prodded gently.

Sansa lifted her head, and held it as if heading into battle. "Tyrion, you probably heard that our marriage was annulled, and I was wed to Ramsey Bolton."

Now Tyrion's head sank. Yes, he did know. He had not heard of it until after the Bolton bastard had been killed, but it pierced his heart all the same. "Yes, Sansa. I did. And I heard of the horrible things he did to you, as well."

"Yes," was all Sansa could say. What could a woman say, when her humiliation was known throughout the realm? "To be honest, Tyrion, I'm not sure exactly where that leaves us. While we did not... consummate... our marriage, no septon, High or otherwise, made an official declaration on the matter. But I ---" her voice cracked. "I am no longer a maid." She felt her face blush, and tears well in her eyes.

That made Tyrion fidget in his seat. He wasn't sure how she would take what he had to say next, but now was the time to say it. "Sansa, I did consult septons, and a handful of maesters on the matter. It seems that legally, and in the eyes of the gods, we are still man and wife. What Ramsay did to you was... rape, plain and simple."

Sansa burst into tears. Tyrion hated to see her in such pain, but hesitated to reach out to comfort her. Was she crying because of the ordeals she had been through? Remembering what Ramsay had done to her? Or because she was still wedded to the Imp?

"For what it's worth, my lady," he finally said, "the loss of your maidenhead is no matter to me." He smiled gently at her. In fact, he found the matter pretty insignificant under the circumstances. "As for the lawfulness of our marriage, I daresay that's not something we need to be troubled about right away. The two of us must do our bit to support the realm after so many years of war and hardship, and prepare for the coming winter, as you Starks are fond of saying."

Sansa dabbed at her wet eyes with her handkerchief. “Thank you, Tyrion." That phrase alone calmed his heart. Sansa took another moment to gain control of herself again. She folded the handkerchief in her lap and smoothed it. "It took me a few years to realize it, but you are one of the few men in my life, and certainly still living, who hasn’t tried to hurt me. That’s not something easily disregarded. I know you did what you could to help me when we were first married, and I thank you for that as well.”

Tyrion was touched by her words. This was as close to a real admission of love he'd had from a woman since Shae. He reached over to take her hand in his and kissed it. “My lady, I know we were both put in a situation neither of us wanted to be in. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most.”

“And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she said in a whisper. She looked at him until he returned the gaze, and a faint smile showed on his troubled face.

“I don’t think either of us has had any control over our lives for a very long time.” Tyrion patted her hand. He felt invigorated just touching her like this. Her soft, supple hand in his, as a reminder of the delicacies that once were, and how truly beautiful of a creature she was.

Sansa hesitated a moment, then took both of his hands in hers. “And now we are older, and wiser, and have helped to bring some stability to the Realm.” She paused, trying to find her words. “I was a girl then, and now I’m a woman. I’ve been abused and humiliated for many, many years. And I know I was not as kind to you as I should have been.”

“My lady --” Tyrion interrupted, shaking his head. “There’s no need to bring that up again.”

“I just want to apologize for that,” Sansa said insistently. “I’m sorry for that additional pain I’ve caused you.”

Tyrion felt a tear in his eye. It was true he had once had his moments of frustration at the lack of compassion from his lady wife, which would quickly be overshadowed by his understanding that she was as much a puppet in his family's games as he was. “There’s no need for apologies. All was forgiven a long time ago.”

Sansa smiled at her one-time husband. “Thank you, my lord.” Her face took on a more determined look. “I came to you tonight because, well…” She paused again. She was not used to having conversations of this nature to men, especially to a man she’d been married to. “I’d like us to get to know each other the way we should have been allowed before the betrothal.”

Tyrion cocked his head to the side, questioning.

“What I mean is,” Sansa continued, “is though once I was your wife, now I’d like to be your friend.”

Tyrion smiled warmly, and all the apprehension he felt melted away. “I would like that very much, Lady Sansa.” He kissed her hand again. He watched her whole body seem to relax from getting his one admission out. She was still as beautiful as ever, and he very much wanted to claim her as he had wanted to so many times when they were first wed. But he had too much respect for the Lady of Winterfell to ever act on that without her acceptance. But knowing that she wanted a chance to know him as a person and a man separate from a husband gave him hope for what might be.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyrion met Jon Snow in Jon’s private quarters the next morning. It was a clear day with the sun shining bright but the chill of winter permeated everywhere. Tyrion’s cloak helped, but he was grateful when he stepped in the study with a large fire already blazing. Jon was surrounded by papers and scrolls and seemed to be concentrating deeply on a map while consulting another paper. His head snapped up when Tyrion entered. “Ah! My Lord Tyrion! Come in.” Jon stacked the papers off to the side and gave his attention to Tyrion.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion bowed slightly. “Thank you again for the warm reception last night. It was a welcome end to our journey from King’s Landing.”

“It was our pleasure,” Jon said, leaning back in his chair. “The North has had too many tragedies the last few years, and a little revelry now and again helps.”

“I come with word from Queen Daenerys —”

“The Mother of Dragons can wait a moment,” Jon interrupted. He tented his fingers and looked straight at Tyrion. “Tyrion, I wanted to talk to you about my sister Sansa.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened, and he couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. “Did she... say something to you?”

Jon’s face didn’t give an answer. “Tyrion, are you intending to claim my sister as your wife and take her back with you to King’s Landing?”

Tyrion tensed. Daenerys had teased him about bringing back his bride, but in all sincerity Tyrion had expected that Sansa would refuse to see him in the first place and never entertained the idea. He could tell Jon was expecting an answer, so he stumbled into telling Jon the truth. “In… in… all my… Your Grace, I… well…” Jon coughed. “Jon. I have no designs on Lady Sansa. My purpose in coming here was to relay messages from Queen Daenerys as we attempt to rebuild the realm. And possibly return with some wine from this area, since I favored it last time I was here. That is all.”

“So you wish to abandon your wife?” Jon’s voice was raised, and it rankled Tyrion, and his face went white.

“No, that is not what I meant—” 

“You were married by the High Septon in the Great Sept of Baelor, though of course the beloved late Queen, your sister, blew it up, but the bonds of your union still remain.”

“I recognize that, Your Grace.”

“And yet you didn’t come here to claim her? Do you find her tainted?”

The idea of Sansa being tainted, and Jon saying it, hurt Tyrion deeply. “By the Seven, I do not, Your Grace! I respect your sister and would never wish her harm, especially after all she has been through! If she never wished to see me again I would gladly oblige!” 

At that Jon broke and laughed. “Glad to hear it, Lord Tyrion!”

Tyrion stumbled at Jon’s sudden change of mood. “Pardon, Your Grace?”

“Tyrion, my sister Sansa has been through hell and back, and the one thing she has mentioned about that journey with any sort of softness is you.”

“Softness?”

Jon got up and poured a drink and handed it to Tyrion, and poured another for himself. “Ever since our father was killed, she has been abused and taken advantage of. And despite the contrived circumstances of your marriage, she has told me that you remained kind to her and never… well… forced anything.”

Tyrion choked slightly as he drank. “Your Grace, what are you trying to tell me?”

Jon chortled, then sat and was serious again as he faced Tyrion. “I’m saying, that despite everything, I believe my sister developed feelings for you. Maybe even love.”

Tyrion’s mouth was agape at this confession.

“What I want to know,” Jon began, “is if you feel the same for her?”

Tyrion relaxed, understanding that Jon Snow had been teasing him and was still the same earnest man Tyrion had known him to be. “I must confess, Your Grace, I was not pleased with the arrangement of our marriage either, and resisted it as much as I could, for her sake as well as mine. It had been my intent to remain unwed and make the use of the whores until the end of my days.” He glanced up at Jon, and saw his mouth had gone tense. “But that was before. I have always loved beautiful things, and your sister Sansa is the epitome of beauty and grace. That she has survived all that my blasted family has thrown at her and more is a testimony to her spirit.” He took another gulp and finished his drink while he gathered his thoughts. “I came here with no intentions on her. I had no idea what to expect. That she didn’t throw me immediately out or lock me in irons pleased me for sure.”

“I think you know, my little sister can do away with the men who harm her very easily,” Jon responded with an ominous tone.

“That I have. It tears me up to know that Ramsay Bolton, that fucking — that he was able to — that he —” Tyrion slammed a fist on the table in frustration. It wasn't the first time, nor would it likely be the last that Tyrion’s mind went wild at what his lady wife had endured. When he’d first gotten word of what the Boltons had done to Sansa, a few bottles of wine were drunk and shattered and a fine quilt had been ripped into shreds. He had tortured sleep for days. The only thing that calmed him was knowing that the Starks had regained control of Winterfell, Sansa was alive and otherwise unharmed, and that she had orchestrated the death of her tormentor. As helpless as Tyrion had felt then, he’d also felt great pride in the woman he had missed for so long.

“I know your thoughts, Tyrion,” Jon Snow gravely intoned. Surely her brother had also felt his share of rage at Sansa’s treatment as well. 

Tyrion stared at the floor a moment to allow the rage inside him to dissipate some. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is harm Lady Sansa. If she never wants me to claim her as my bride, if she never wants me to touch her, if she never wants to see me again, I will abide by her word.”

Jon contemplated Tyrion a moment, with respect on his face for the man. He nodded and returned to his desk. 

“She came to me last night,” Tyrion continued softly. Jon raised an eyebrow, and Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Nothing untoward, Your Grace. We merely spoke. I am willing and able to let her know me as she couldn’t before we were wed. Let us start there.”

Jon nodded his approval. “Let us start there.” He paused. “Now — what from Daenerys Targaryen?”

***

Tyrion felt strange in his bed that night at Winterfell. After his chat with Jon that morning, he felt a little more confidence with his relationship to Sansa. He hadn’t seen her much except in passing that day. He attended to matters of state with Jon, and Sansa tended to the stores of Winterfell. It was evident she was much respected in her home in the North, and it pleased him to see her finally grown into her rightful place in the world. 

He thought of her now. His wife was in another wing of the castle, no doubt in her bed. Also alone. He had promised her all those years ago that he would not touch her unless she desired it, and he would keep his word. But it left him in confusion. Their alliance was made during a time of war, and under duress. Nevertheless he had kept true to the vow he made to her, even if she didn’t want him. But what was to become of them now? They were married in the eyes of the Seven. But would they ever have a real marriage? Would he ever get to enjoy her as a wife? There was a sliver of hope he felt now, and it sent a shiver through him he did not find unpleasurable. 

Sansa laid in her bed thinking similar thoughts. _My lord husband is alive. He is Hand to the Queen. He is still a good man._ He’d aged considerably since she’d seen him all those years ago, when she was still a mere girl. His own trials in the war had hardened him some, but she still couldn’t help but feel a pull to him she hadn’t felt before as he and Jon walked through the grounds discussing the matters of the realm Queen Daenerys had sent him up here for. There were gray specks in his hair that gave him an added air of honor she found she liked. She thought of the personal turmoil and cost he’d been through since that awful Purple Wedding. She thought of how kind he was to her when she was terrified of their own wedding night. Then she thought of her dreadful Aunt Lysa’s wedding night screams and cries of passion she heard when Lysa married Lord Baelish. How jealous and frustrated Sansa felt then. To know what should have been. She remembered Margaery telling her of Tyrion’s reputation as a lover, and as those thoughts crept back into her remembrance, her body radiated with passion and heat and she felt as if she were floating. She touched herself and it was as if she were on fire. She tossed and turned in her already tangled and sweaty sheets. She suddenly felt brave and resolved, and hurried out of her bed.

 

There was a timid knock on the door. “Enter,” Tyrion called from the table piled with books. Much of the grand Winterfell library had been burned when it was sacked, but some small amount had been salvaged. It helped Tyrion to relax to lose himself in a book for awhile.

“My lord husband.”

His head jolted up. Before him stood Lady Sansa, her hair down, her face void of expression. She was wrapped in her dressing gown, and she gripped the neck closed herself. Tyrion couldn’t help but gulp. She looked nearly like something of the stories told by old travelers, gorgeous creatures who could seduce men with a glance and pull their souls out through their chests and leave them cold.

“My--my--lady--” He stumbled down from the chair and stood by it, gripping the seat to keep him from falling from the surprise. “How may I serve you this evening?”

She glanced at a chair by him, and he extended his hand as invitation to sit. Sansa seemed nervous, and her hands remained clenched as she sat. She seemed flushed, as if she had something to say, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Tyrion took pity on her, and took one of her hands in his. “My lady wife.” He wasn’t expecting to say that to her, and it felt good coming from his mouth. He kissed her hand tenderly. Did he dare to hope that she was here in expression of affection for him? He didn’t know what to say either. “It is good to see you so well.”

“And you, my lord. Tyrion.” Sansa took a deep breath, and twisted in her seat to face him. “I wanted to tell you that… that… I have missed you.”

Tyrion smiled at her as his stomach did a flip. “And I you.”

Sansa smiled sweetly, and relief came to her face. “I know I’m not the kind of woman you would want as a wife--”

Tyrion let out a snort. “My dear Sansa, you’re more than I had ever hoped for in a wife. It is I who is unworthy of you.” Sansa blushed and looked downward. Tyrion felt emboldened by that expression, and continued as he clutched her hand. “Sansa, do you realize I’ve spent our years of separation thinking of you? Hoping you were thinking of me? We were just starting to get close and trust each other before… well… I had hoped you were warming up to me.”

“And I was,” Sansa blurted out, and looked again at Tyrion. “I began to see that the two of us were such outcasts together, and had started to imagine us getting away from King’s Landing… Which we did, just under far different circumstances than anticipated.”

Tyrion smiled gloomily. “Didn’t we just.” He sighed and looked wistfully off in the distance. “That day I was looking at a knight and his lady wife across from us, she large with child, and he doting on her. I remember thinking at the time how desperately I wanted that to be us, I…” Tyrion’s throat closed up, and he tried to hold in a sob. “I know I’m not the man you had envisioned being your husband, and tried to let that dream go. I saw you more as a child than a woman I could expect to even think of me in that way.”

Sansa nodded, and turned her face away to look out the window. “I will admit, at fourteen I was dreaming of a much different life. Joffrey knocked much of that out of me, and what I learned about Ser Loras later made me glad I didn’t marry him, either.” Sansa paused a moment as if deliberating something, and then decided swiftly to sit on the floor so she could be more level with Tyrion, who had remained standing next to her. She grabbed a pillow and gripped it like a toy doll. The impulsive move startled Tyrion, but delighted him as well. Sansa looked up at him, and he admired the line of her neck, and the way her hair fell back from her face. “But like I said, my lord husband, I came to realize that you have been more kind and gentle with me than any man since my father. I certainly don’t want to chance my luck on anyone else. And besides, we’ve already been married.” She smiled up at Tyrion until he returned the smile. Her face looked flushed and her breathing a little more labored. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and opened her eyes again, resolved. “Tyrion, would you kiss me?”

Tyrion felt as if his heart fell into his stomach and bounced up again into his throat. This was something he’d wished for, had hoped would one day happen, and in his darkest moments had despaired would never be. “Pardon, my lady?”

If Sansa’s face could have gone more red, it did just then. She demurely looked down, then forced herself to look at her husband. “I would like you to kiss me, in the way only you know how, to make my knees go weak, and make me as soft as jelly, like all the rumors I've heard about you.” She giggled nervously. “That’s why I’m sitting on the floor.”

He suddenly felt as shy as a virgin, and blushed. The feeling surprised him, and made him a little dizzy.

“Tyrion,” Sansa said more forcefully and pleadingly, and made to reach out to him. She dropped her hand from the neck of her dressing gown and it fell open slightly, and he caught a glimpse of her bosom. “Please.”

Tyrion crept closer to the beautiful, beseeching woman on the floor. The woman who wanted him, like all the daydreams he'd entertained years before. He gently held her head in his hands, and leaned in to kiss her lips in a more formal manner. Sansa’s lips were warm and inviting, and he willingly pressed into them. He who had kissed so many could sense the inexperience in her, but felt the heat in them as well. He pulled away slightly to gauge her reaction, and she pushed back into him, parting her lips to allow his tongue to touch hers. Tyrion felt his whole body slowly begin to burn with the kind of desire he had not felt in a long time. Sansa wrapped her arms around Tyrion and he wrapped his arms around her head and neck, sinking his fingers into her tresses, which smelled slightly of lavender.

“I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done that!" Sansa said abruptly, and moved to turn away.

Tyrion slid his hand down to her wrist and held it. "Sansa, the day I refuse a kiss from a beautiful woman is the day I should die." 

"A lady shouldn't be this forward--"

"Nonsense! A lady should express herself as she pleases. I admire forwardness in a woman. It lets me off the hook."

Sansa smiled at that, and leaned back onto the chair, only to have the chair jerk back slightly, throwing them both off balance. Giggling, they straightened up. Sansa stood and moved to sit on the edge of Tyrion’s bed, trailing her hand behind her in a gesture for him to follow her. She felt emboldened by his words and her own desires. Tyrion felt himself become aroused, and he closed his eyes a moment to control his body. He joined her on the bed, and they sat staring at each other’s lips for a moment before he moved her hair aside and softly kissed her neck, and then using his tongue to lick and suck at her pale skin. Sansa let out a quiet groan and blushed again, surprised by the sound he had caused her to make. Tyrion felt her seize up, and he embraced her reassuringly.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Tyrion whispered into her ear and gently bit her earlobe, “that’s how I want you to sound.” He returned his lips to hers, and gave her deep kisses and felt her relax and ease back into him. He moved to pull down her nightdress off her shoulders, and kissed the creamy exposed skin. His hand pressed the side of her breast. He moved his head to kiss her bosom, and her chest heaved to meet him. He squeezed her breasts together and pressed his face into them, breathing her in as he kissed. Sansa gripped his arms.

“My lord husband,” Sansa said a bit abruptly, and put her hand to his chest to slow him, “I don’t know if I’m ready for more… intimate… relations…” 

Tyrion sighed in a resigned way, and smiled at his lady wife. He understood. "My dear Sansa, I’m sorry for my ardor tonight. You only asked for a kiss and here I am approaching more.”

Sansa brought him into a warm and tight hug. “You were so kind and gentle, and you still are. I want you, but I’m still… well… I have not been treated well by men.” She exhaled, and tried to hold back sudden tears.

Tyrion rubbed his hands up and down her back. “You will be by me. Sansa, listen to me." They pulled apart so he could look her in the eye. He used his thumb to wipe away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "Sansa, you have no need to worry." They allowed for a long pause, where nothing needed to be said. He kissed her cheek delicately. "I told you I would never touch you unless you wanted me to. I stand by that." He brought her hand to his lips to kiss. "To hear you say that you want me is all I need."

Sansa smiled back at him, relieved. “Thank you.” She touched his face. “I think I need a little time.” Tyrion nodded slightly, understanding. “But you give me a sense of comfort I haven’t felt in many years.” She kissed him, with assurance. She pulled back to look at him, and kissed him again, pulling him to her. “Tyrion, please hold me.”

Tyrion touched her face, her neck, her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into him. The two of them gently lowered into the pillows, and she buried her head in his chest. He rested his chin on her head, and felt tears pour out of her silently that fell onto this tunic. She shook slightly as the feelings she had kept bottled up for so many years finally got a release as she laid in the arms of a man she knew cared for her. She clutched at him as she continued to cry, he inhaled her scent and caressed her until she eventually drifted to sleep in his arms. 

Despite Sansa’s tears, Tyrion knew that a wall she had put up had started to crumble, and there was good reason to believe that he might find some happiness with his lady wife. He hadn’t been this happy in so long he couldn’t remember, finally getting to hold his wife, knowing she was not repulsed by him. And before he himself fell into sleep, he leaned back into his pillows and felt as though he were seven feet tall, replaying those words from Sansa over and over, “I want you… I want you… I want you…”

_To be continued...._


End file.
